Steam and smoke rolled out from under the hood of the Theater Owners Booking Association bus. Most of the performers had filed off and were milling around the side of the road, but a few hung out of the open windows, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes.

“It’s ruined!” Declared Fats, as he slammed the hood back down. “We ain’t makin’ the gig.”

“Then we’ll have to walk.” Said a smaller man in a cheap suit, the only white amongst the crowd. “We’ve got an engagement to keep. We’ll deal with the bus tomorrow.”


A murmur of disquiet went through the group. They were miles from their intended stop.

“Like hell I am.” Came a voice from the back. It was Ma Rainey, a corpulent blues singer and one of the circuit’s biggest draws. “The’s a bar a ways back. We’ll play there.”

“No, no. The Barrasso’s won’t like that. We’re booked to play in Mobile tonight. A real theater, not some cliche juke joint.”

Ma Rainey loomed toward the man, seeing to grow larger the closer she got.

“We’re in Mobile. We’re playin’ tonight. That’s good enough. Don’t you agree?”

The small man swallowed and gave a meek nod.

“Thought so.”

Memphis Note
The Theater Owners Booking Association was a Memphis based Vaudeville circuit that catered to black audiences in the South. It was founded by two Italian brothers that saw the strong attendance by blacks to their theaters in Memphis when they booked black acts. Notorious for working their acts to the bone in poor conditions, Ma Rainey was once quoted as saying that TOBA actually stood for “Tough on Black Asses”. The circuit folded during the Great Depression, but its bones became the basis of the loose Chitlin’ Circuit that helped create rock ‘n roll.

The ghost light stood alone on stage, casting its pale white light out into the emptiness of the Orpheum Theatre. We sat up in the darkened mezzanine, where the light barely reached, passing a pint of whiskey between the two of us and finishing a bag of cold popcorn.

“Mike, any chance you want to tell me what we’re doing up here?” I took a swig from the bottle and handed it back to him. “It’s been a long day of set up and rehearsal, and I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Shhh shhh shhh. Look down.” He craned his neck out and pointed his finger down to the orchestra seating below us.

As if on cue, a girl in her late teens stood up from her seat with an echoing giggle. There was an unearthly glow about her as she began to dance in the aisles.

“That one of the chorus girls?” I asked, uncertain of what I was seeing.

“That’s Mary. The theatre’s ghost. She’s been around forever.”

“That’s absolutely mad, Mike.”

“I know.” He looked over at me, a wild glint in his eye. “I want you to find a way to work her into the show.”

Memphis Note
In the Orpheum, seat C-5 can sometimes be a little colder than any other seat in the building. That’s because it belongs to the Orpheum’s ghost, Mary. Supposedly she’s the ghost of a young girl that died in a car accident in front of the theatre. She’s been known to open doors, play the organ, and give people the shivers as she passes through the audience.

Before the last frame of celluloid rolled off the reel, Jacob was yanking the curtain closed with one hand, raising the house lights with another and jerking his head for the intermission singers to get on with it.

Jacob burst out into the house like some had set a firecracker off under his rear. He only had three songs to get up to the projection booth and load the next film.

Bounding up the stairs, he found the Theatorium’s owner, Mr. Dinstuhl, sitting on the landing, shoulders slumped.

“Sir?” Jacob asked, unaccustomed to seeing his hardworking boss like this.

“Ah, Jacob, my boy” Mr. Dinstuhl looked up with a weak smile. Then, without warning, asked, “How are you at making candy?”

“I dunno? I just run the projectors.”

“You know, I opened this nickelodeon to sell candy. Chocolates, toffees, brittles. I could give two shakes about the movies, I just wanted to sell these rubes sweets. Now they all want something called ‘popped corn’. Popped corn! What the hell is that? Killing my margins, that’s what. Gonna have to sell the blasted theatre to make up for it.

“So, let me rephrase. Would you like to learn to make candy?”

Memphis Note
The Theatorium was Memphis’s first official nickelodeon. Films were the main draw, with live acts only being used between features. The theatre was opened by Charles Dinstuhl, who owned a confectionary next door. He rightly saw the theatre as a way to increase his customer base. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much interest in the movies or the business of running a theatre, and when pop corn began to over take candy sales, he pulled out of the movie business. Which was probably a for the best, since he went on to found the legendary Dinstuhl Fine Candy Company.

The patrons were unusually quiet, anxious even, as they queued in front of the Warner Theater. In the sweltering summer heat, women fanned themselves, men sweated through their linen shirts, what few children there were stamped impatiently at the wait. Hundreds yellow incandescent bulbs in the marquee over head pulsed in steady rhythm, driving the crowd slowly forward past the ticket booth and into the theatre.

Inside crowd filed past the concession stand without stopping for refreshment, disappearing into the dimly lit cavern of the screen room. They took their seats as silently as they’d entered. A baby started to cry, and the theatre manager had a sinking sensation that he’d just hung an albatross around his neck.

The lights went out and everyone in the room held their breath. Silver light spilled across the screen, images dancing to life. Speakers hissed and popped then a lively jazz tune began to roll out of them.

Still the audience held their breath. All of this they’d seen before. They were here for something new.

Then a dull roar echoed through the room, followed by a cold breeze drifting down from above. They all exhaled as the air conditioning came to life.

Memphis Note
The Warner Theatre was the first building in Memphis to get air conditioning. It was originally a Vaudeville theatre called the Pantages, purchased by Warner Brothers in the 30s after Vaudeville gave way to movie theaters. The theatre had a marquee that would put even the modern Orpheum to shame, but sadly it was demolished to make way for One Commerce Square in the late 60s.